Snowed In
by yonezuu
Summary: Alfred didn't mean for him and his friends to get snowed in, of course he didn't. Bad things happened to him when it snowed, and he certainly didn't want his friends to know about his problems. His guests, Kiku, Francis, and Arthur, end up finding more about Alfred's past than they had expected. Who knew the young country had went through so much? M - for gore and language.
1. Football Game

This month's meeting went unusually well; each country talked about the plans for their economy, solved arguments and disputes, and who (theoretically) was the best Texas Hold 'Em player. However, that argument was solved when Germany pointed out it was all luck of the hand.

The countries all had flown out to the United States for the meeting, and it was no coincidence that the conference hall where the meeting took place was near Alfred's house.

Being a good host, Alfred invited everyone over to 'chill and watch some football', as he put it. Canada went because he had nothing better to do, France wanted to catch up with Canada, and England wanted to make fun of America's ridiculous obsession with wrongly named sports. Alfred practically begged Kiku to join them, simply so he could witness his reaction to American sports, but failing to remember Japan's obsession with baseball. Everyone else's flights were the next morning, so they couldn't make it.

(x)

Alfred was out shopping for refreshments when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

'Alfred, how accurate are your weather reports? The news forecast says there is going to be a blizzard'. - Arthur Kirkland

'relax it'll be fine and why are you using correct punctuation grandpa learn some texting etiquette jesus christ,' Alfred responded, paying for the groceries and walking out to his car.

The drive home was filled constant buzzing as Arthur yelled at him through text message, a rather ineffective way of disciplining his former colony.

Alfred owned a three room apartment in the heart of the city. It was a weathered brownstone building with stairs leading up to a rather large carved oak door. The interior was contemporary, with cream colored walls and soft plush carpet. A small opening to the right of held shoes, and directly to the right, the room opened up. There was a window nook where you could sit and read, a small dining table, and a bookshelf. Deeper into the house there was a living room. A medium sized TV sat in a dark wood entertainment center that took up most of the wall. The shelves were lined with a variety of movies, games, books, and photo albums.

On the opposite wall was a dark gray three cushion couch, with a small table next to it that held a lamp. The final wall possessed two bedroom doors, the one closest to the couch was Alfred's room, it also was where the only bathroom in the apartment was located. The other was the guest bedroom, and unofficially Matt's room.  
Alfred's room was medium sized, with a full sized bed with a poofy grey comforter sitting low to the ground in the corner. A trash can and a bedside table stood beside it, and on it, a small lamp. Two large desks consumed the corner of the room, topped off with a laptop and stacks of papers; a small TV sat on a stack of books on the corner of his desk. The back wall of Alfred's room was a shelf for personal items and books. It was also the place where he kept all his suitcases and duffle bags.

The guest room was smaller, with a bed that sat on a tall wooden bedframe, a bedside table that doubled as dresser, and on the back wall, a desk, a trash can, and a floor lamp. A cot was folded under the bed, in case there needed to be more than three places to sleep.

Alfred put the refreshments in the fridge and looked at the time. It was 3:55 PM; his guests should be arriving any minute.

Alfred's kitchen was tiny. Sitting in the far left corner of the house, it was mostly countertop. It was impossible to open the fridge door and dishwasher at once, and the stove door, when open, blocked off all the cabinets under the counter. A drying rack and toaster oven took up one side of the counter, and the sink took up the other, only leaving space for one or two plates either in between the two or at the end.

Matthew arrived first with Francis, bringing a bag of potato chips. Then Kiku, who gave Alfred a box of popular Japanese candy, wrapped neatly in pastel yellow paper. And finally Arthur, who arrived a good ten minutes after everyone else, with a six pack of beer.

"Pabst Blue Ribbon. Sheesh, this stuff is on the strong side," said Alfred, putting the beers on the countertop.

"Arthur," Matthew spoke up, "you do know the drinking age in the United States is twenty-one, right?"

"Oh well," Arthur snickered, shooting an amused glare at Alfred.

"Do you guys want anything to drink? I have soda,water, and Arthur brought beer."

"I want to try some American liquor." Francis spoke up, getting up and following Alfred into the kitchen.

"This one is on the strong side, at least for us. I heard European drinks were stronger than ours, though," Alfred commented, ripping a can off the pack and giving it to Francis.

(x)

"It gets dark early in America," said Kiku, looking out the window. He was sitting on one out of the two outdoor folding chairs that had to be set up so everyone had a place to sit.

"It's only because it's winter. It's way worse in other countries," Alfred remarked, noticing it was starting to snow. "Poor Sweden only gets one hour of sunlight during the winter."

(x)

As the game neared its end, Arthur spoke up, "It's really starting to come down heavy there, will it be safe to drive?"

"It's too dark to tell," Francis added.

"Yeah you're right, I'll go check…on the computer," Alfred said quietly, rubbing his temples and walking into his bedroom.

"What was that about?" Arthur asked, looking at Matthew.

"Looks like this snow storm is a rather big one, most of the country seems to be getting snowfall," Matt responded, checking the weather report on his phone, "the news says the meteorologists didn't predict it to be this intense."

"That's worrisome, but that doesn't answer why Amérique is acting unusual." added Francis, drinking the last of his beer.

"Alfred always has headaches. They get worse when the weather is bad or when the political parties are debating, which they are always doing," Matt explained, still reading news articles on his phone. "But it seems like an unearthly combination of both is happening right now."

"I hope Alfred doesn't get too sick." Kiku stated said worriedly.

"Dudes," Alfred said,sloppily walking back into the room, "there is like, four feet of snow on the ground already. You guys are stuck for the night."

Alfred's head was pounding. Not only were there multiple political campaigns were going on, but the blizzard had made car accidents increase. He could already feel the wrecks taking a toll on his body. He took some medicine while in his room, but it was going to take a while before it worked. It always made him groggy. He checked the time, 5:27 PM; at this rate he was going to crash by 6.

"That's unfortunate," Japan said. "Does that means flights are cancelled as well? I'll need to call and tell my boss they are."

"Count on it," said Alfred. He flopped down on the couch and turned down the volume on the TV. He wasn't interested in the game anymore, none of the teams he liked were playing that night anyway.

While the countries were calling their bosses and explaining the situation, Alfred went into the guest room to set up the spare bed. Matt kept a few changes of clothes and some toiletries in the top drawer of the dark dresser, but the other drawers were used for storage.

Alfred opened the spare drawers, taking out the sheets, blankets, and pillows and setting them on Matt's bed. Then, he took out the cot. Gripping the cold metal frame, he pulled it out from under the bed, the wheels leaving dents in the soft carpet. With a quick nudge upward, the bed sprung up, the thin mattress flopping on top.

His headache medicine started to take effect while he was making the bed. His eyelids grew heavy has the pounding reduced to a dull ache. The bed was made and pushed back against Matt's window, and now all he had to do was fix up the pull-out couch.

Alfred walked into the living room and yawned, his walking was shuffles now, and his eyelids were heavy. Despite that, he tried to be cheerful with his guests.

Matt was sitting in a vacant camping chair and talking to Francis enthusiastically in french.

Contrary to popular belief, Matt is actually a talkative person. He is a quiet person, though. Most people don't hear him, which bothers him; France acknowledges that he exists, though, and talks to him every chance he gets. Alfred is one of Matt's best friends, they spend most of their spare time together, which explains why Matt has his own room in Alfred's house and vice versa.

"I am going to, uhm, undo the couch thingy now, Francis, so… yeah." Alfred told Francis, who was sitting on the couch. He rubbed his face, god he was tired, we just ready to collapse…

"Al? You okay?" Asked Matthew. Alfred's eyes were closed and he was swaying heavily.

Extreme weather always tired Alfred out, there was no helping it, it just how things were for the countries. He usually slept it off but he had guests over…

Thump

(x)

Alfred woke up the next morning with another splitting headache and a foul taste in his mouth. Alfred looked down and saw that the trashcan beside his bed held vomit in it, he sighed, this usually happens when he didn't take his medicine. He took a tip of the water that was on his bedside table and laid flat on his back. Alfred hadn't noticed before, but there was someone else in the bed with him. He looked over and saw Matt, in the pair of pajamas he keeps at Alfred's house. He was fast asleep, curled up and hugging one of the pillows tightly. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep and truly happy. Alfred sat up and swung his feet over the side of the bed. His eyes strained to look for Texas as his hand fumbled clumsily around the bedside table. Realizing they weren't there, he stood up to go look for them. A wave of nausea overtook him, and we was quickly on his knees barfing into the trash can. Matt hastily got up and rushed over to help Alfred. He hurried into the bathroom, grabbing a towel, some medicine, and Texas.

"Blekh, what happened last night?" America asked, spitting into the trash can and wiping his mouth with the towel.

After Alfred had washed out his mouth, brushed his teeth, and taken some medicine, Matthew started to explain from the beginning.

"You collapsed last night, Francis caught you before you could hit your head on the coffee table, so that's good. We tried to wake you up, but you out, Alfred, you were really tired."

"Sorry about that."

Alfred still had a headache, he was going to have to sleep off all the bad stuff until the country got adjusted to the snow.  
Once his stomach settled he made his way to the kitchen. Lucky for him, someone had already made coffee.

"Oh, Alfred you're awake," Kiku said, pouring a mug of coffee for him, "I hope you aren't feeling to bad. Arthur checked to see how much snow was on the ground before he went to bed, but when he opened the door, there was snow up to his waist!"

"It's even worse now." The Englishman commented. Arthur grunted as he sat up on the couch and stretched his back.

"Kiku." said Alfred.

"Hm?"

"Your bangs."

"Yes?"

"Do you usually clip them up?"

"Only in the mornings." Kiku responded, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Hmm, cute." Alfred commented, taking a sip of his coffee as well.

Arthur, Kiku, and Matt sat on the couch, and Alfred sat on one of the camping chairs. They decided on watching the morning news, to check the weather.

"New York is predicted to get eight feet of snow, with another blizzard coming in around noon." the Weather Man explained, pointing to various points on the blizzard. The giant snowstorm covered most of the New England states, which meant A) They were stranded in Alfred's house B) The planes wouldn't be flying anytime soon and C) Alfred's headaches would only get worse.

"Their fighting over whether or not to use salt on the roads, because it's bad for the environment and such," Alfred sighed. His face contorted in pain and he rubbed his temples, "there always has to be a debate, nothing is never good enough."

Arthur looked at his former colony worriedly. Alfred didn't exactly have the most efficient government, or land for all that matter. His bathroom countertop was lined with medication to reduce the pain of the common trembles on the west coast, the political debates, and every other issue that would affect him.

"Alfred."

"Yeah, Arthur?"

"I didn't know you spoke spanish."

The room filled with silence, Matt and Kiku anticipating Alfred's next words.

"Do you know how my country got it's people? They immigrated from yours of course, among other countries. How do you not know that."

Alfred was clearly annoyed Arthur of all people didn't know his history. Maybe he'll give him an american history textbook for his birthday to get back at him.

"You were throwing up in the bathroom last night and you were speaking spanish. Also, don't snap at me you fucker," Arthur stopped at took a sip of his coffee, "I tried to find out what was wrong, but you were just mumbling in spanish."

"Was I? I don't remember…"

"Do you know what caused it?" Kiku asked.

"Yeah, I have to take this stuff so I won't throw up at night, because the west coast gets so many little earthquakes, and it upsets my stomach while I sleep. 'Cuz ya know… time zones and such."

Alfred caught Kiku looking at him. His dark brown eyes filled with worry, and damn, was it cute. Alfred noticed he was wearing a pair of Matt's old blue pajama pants that no longer fitted him and a worn red tee shirt that stopped past his waist. Even though the pant's legs were rolled up, they will were extremely long. His head was resting on his knees as he watched the news intentively. Alfred couldn't help but blush. Kiku's stupid fucking hair and the baggy pajama pants- it was too much.

Arthur, on the other hand, was wearing a pair of Alfred's plain red pajama pants and a white tee shirt that he filled rather nicely, even though he was lankier than him. His eyebrows furrowed as the news cast talked about different campaign strategies used by the different political parties. He had dark circles under his eyes, which were a duller green from lack of sleep.

Matthew was dozing off in between the other countries, his head back against the wall, his legs spread out, and his coffee loosely braced on his huge hands. He was wearing grey sweatpants and his sweatshirt, and his glasses were pushed up on his forehead.

Alfred yawned and made his way to the kitchen. The news only amplified his head ache, but his guests seemed to be invested in it, so he wasn't going to say anything. He rinsed out his mug and put it in the dishwasher, not planning to get a new cup anytime soon. Not that he could stomach it, unfortunately he loses his appetite when he doesn't take his nausea medicine. He walked over to the reading nook and looked out the window. White. The whole ground was covered and it was still snowing. Not as harsh of course, but every flake meant his head pounded harder.

"I need to sleep this off, help yourselves to whatever. Matt practically lives here so ask him for stuff." Alfred said groggily, slipping into his room and closing the door.

It was going to be a rough couple of days.


	2. Earthquakes and Photo Albums

**((Just wanted to thank everyone who reviewed. It made my day and I happy you liked the hinted ameripan!))**

"Is Amérique still asleep?" Francis asked, rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes.

"He just went back to bed, sleeping beauty."

"So you think I am beautiful, Angleterre?"

"Shut up."

Once Francis has made himself a cup of coffee, he settled down on the bright orange camping chair Alfred was sitting in only a handful of minutes before.

Francis couldn't see a damn thing, he hadn't planned on spending the night, so he didn't bring any contact solution or his glasses. It was a good thing he was nearsighted, or he would have spilled the coffee everywhere. Not only is this going to add to the list of possible insults Angleterre could use against him, he was probably going to get wrinkles under his eyes from straining them. Fuck.

He was wearing a pair of Amérique's gray sweatpants and one of Matt's old blue tee shirts, a comfortable, rather unfashionable, outfit.

Francis notice Amérique's house had little color. The plush carpet was white, the walls were creamed colored, and most of the furniture was grey or dark brown. The only room that was colorful was Matthew's room. His bed frame was light blue, with a faded dark blue comforter laying neatly on top. Some hockey posters hung over the desk, making the room feel rather childish, even though Matthew was older than Alfred.

Francis couldn't see a damn letter on the TV, and he hadn't even realized he was squinting until Arthur pointed it out.

"Why do you keep squinting like an idiot, frog?" Arthur chuckled.

"I didn't plan on spending the night, black sheep, so I don't have my glasses with me." Francis snapped. He hadn't even finished his coffee and he was getting made fun of by Angleterre.

"Y-you have glasses? HA! The fucking frog can't see his flies very well, can he?"

(x)

"Shit." Matthew whispered. People on social media were blowing up, arguing about who was the best candidate, and why they were the best. Both of them had a lot of supporters, with debates going on between the parties every other second. On top of that, articles were being released about how the snow was effecting ill citizens who couldn't reach the hospital. The death count was rising quickly, car accidents not helping that number.

(x)

A muffled sound could be heard inside Alfred's room; Kiku was the first to open the door.

Alfred was pale and hung over the side of the bed, vomiting into the trash can beside his bed. He was rocking back and forth and holding his head in pain. His face contorted as he vomited again.

"Alfred, what's wrong? What do you need?" Kiku said in a slightly frantic voice. It was scary seeing the young country so pale. Alfred's shirt rode up, revealing a discolored ugly raised scar, horizontal to his ribs. A wave of guilt washed over Kiku, even though he still had his scars from the bombings on his land, he had never seen Alfred's.

"Ha habido un cinco punto tres terremoto follando en California …" Explained Alfred. He coughed and spit into the trashcan and closed his eyes. He was sweating and shaking rather badly, it was a good thing the earthquake wasn't worse than a 5.3, or he would have been throwing up bile. Still, his insides were a wreck, and he still had to deal with a possible aftershock.

"Al?" It was Matt now, rubbing his back and nudging a glass of water in his hand.

"Duele…"

"Rinse out your mouth, I am going to get some medicine for you, okay?"

"Muchas gracias," thanked Alfred, swallowing the pills, "Esto es una mierda , lo siento que ustedes tienen de verme de esta manera. Mi país es un poco jodido ahora mismo, sobre todo con la nieve y todo…"

"Shh Alfred, it's okay. Just sleep right now, it's okay." Matt said. He had no idea what Alfred was saying, but going off what Arthur said about last night he was sure Alfred was talking about the earthquakes in California.

Poor Alfred probably wasn't even aware he was speaking spanish.

(x)

"It is unfortunate that we cannot understand Alfred at the moment," Worried Kiku, "What if something bad happened and he is trying to tell us?"

"The only time I have seen Alfred truly in a panic and trying to tell me something was when Pearl Harbor happened. He was trying to tell me what was going on, but I couldn't understand anything he was saying. I learned later from him that he was switching between all the languages spoken in America." Matt explained.

That was probably the most frightening experience Matt shared with Alfred. It was a normal day at his house, and they were eating lunch and listening to a baseball game on the radio. Then Alfred suddenly paled and ran into the bathroom, throwing up blood. His eyes were wide open and he was shaking uncontrollably, and he was crying. Hard. Most of what he was saying was in a number of different languages, and the few sentences in english were incomprehensible.

Kiku was filled with guilt when he heard that Alfred's most frightening moment was caused by him. Alfred knew Kiku was forever guilty, and even though all was forgiven, both of them still had scars from the tragedy. Kiku's scars, unlike Alfred's single thick horizontal scar, were discolored, and went down the sides of his torso vertically, parallel to each other.

"How many bloody languages does Alfred know?" Arthur inquired.

"Beside English, Spanish, and all the native languages, Al knows well over eight, " Matt told them. He paused to think for a moment, crossing his arms, "If I am accurate, besides the languages I told you he knows French, German, Korean, Vietnamese, Chinese, Russian, Arabic, Portuguese, Polish, and Italian."

"Holy fuck."

"Amérique knows nineteen languages?!"

"That is most impressive."

(x)

"I didn't know Alfred kept photo albums." Arthur said. He was keeping himself entertained by browsing Alfred's book collection.

"Oh! Uhm, Arthur, you shouldn't touch that one." Matthew said, reaching for the book. But it was too late.

Arthur flipped one of the pages and found a picture of Alfred and some other men Arthur didn't recognize. The picture wasn't a picture at all in reality. It was a painting that had been scanned and printed to fit in the book. Alfred was much younger in this picture, and wore a revolutionary war uniform. Arthur then realised what this was. It was a picture of Alfred and his military friends. They were dirty and damaged, but they were happy. There were names and dates written on the bottom of the page, telling who the friends were, their birth dates, and their death dates. These were his friends, who he fought beside for their freedom.

The page on the other side of the book was not as heartwarming, though. It was a collage of photos from various wars. One in particular caught Arthur's attention. It was of Alfred and his troop. They were marching solemnly through a marsh. Injured men were being carried on stretchers, their clothes stained with blood. One stretcher in particular was simply carrying corpses for burial. Alfred was the closest to the cameraman, his eyes fixed intensly on something in the distance. It was painful for Arthur to see his former colony like this. Alfred looked exhausted in this photograph, his body slouched forward in motion. His eyes were full of dread, his face and clothes were stained in blood; bloody hands were wrapped tightly around his rifle, ready to shoot what he was focusing on.

Matthew took the book from Arthur's hands, closing it and putting it carefully back into it's place.

"There are some things in his albums that he doesn't like to talk about." Matt said seriously. Didn't Arthur know better than not to snoop around?

"I didn't know Alfred fought in his wars."

"Well he did, and it is painful for him."

The room was silent, the other countries filed with disbelief. To imagine that Alfred fought in every war his country was in…

Kiku noticed that Matthew said _is_ very painful for him instead of _was_ very painful for him. Was Alfred still affected by the wars he participated in?  
Kiku worried for Alfred, he seemed like a happy person, but recent events involving earthquakes and snowstorms told him that not everything was easy for the young country.

(x)

"New York is trapped under eight feet of snow, making this the worst snowstorm in a long time." The reporter announced.

"This is bad." Kiku said, the reporter now talking about the political campaigns.

"It looks like we will be here for a while, no?" The frenchman added.

"That is the least of our worries," Matthew spoke up, "Once this snow starts to melt there will be floods. And there still is a possible aftershock of the earthquake that happened earlier."  
"Does Alfred not have to proper medication to handle these disasters?" Kiku asked.

"Noticeable earthquakes that bring aftershocks don't happen very often, so it's not the government's top priority to develop medicine to counter it."

"That's bloody ridiculous! He's a fucking country!"

Kiku was shocked. His government had developed all sorts of earthquake medication for him, and he had less earthquakes than America. Did the government even care that he was a country?

(x)

Later in the day, Arthur went to check up on his former colony.

"It hurts, Matt." Alfred said upon hearing someone enter.

"Guess again, how are you feeling?" Arthur sighed.

"Like my country is in the gutter."

Alfred was lying on his back, one arm place over his eyes and the other wrapped around his stomach. He was still rather pale, and his breathing was now ragged. The reporter had said something about the power going out in numerous cities. Were too many people not warm enough? Were they trapped out in the cold? With the dry weather and no way to get medicine or to a doctor citizens were getting sick easily; old buildings were collapsing and trees were falling as well. Alfred had never been a sickly boy. What had changed? Arthur decided to fetch his former colony something to eat, knowing it was good to replenish your calories when you are sick.

"Is Al ok?"

"He's a bit pale, and his breathing has gotten a bit worse. I am going to make him something to eat."

"Oh no your not Angleterre! Do you want him to feel better or do you want to earn him to get his stomach pumped!" Francis hollered.

He jump in front of the Englishman, blocking him from entering the kitchen. God knows if he let Arthur cook the fire department would have to be called.

"Kiku and I will prepare something for poor Amérique."

"That sounds like a good idea." Kiku said.

The two countries decided on making soup for Alfred. He didn't have the ingredients for it, but together they could make canned soup taste much better.

(x)

"Amérique? You should try to eat." Francis said sympathetically, handing the bowl to Alfred.

Alfred huffed, sitting up and leaning against the backboard. He crossed his legs, making a place for the bowl to go.

They were just about to leave when Alfred spoke up, "Wait."

"Kiku, can you stay I am bored and I want someone to talk to."

"Sure."

Kiku grabbed the desk chair and rolled it across the plush carpet.

"Doesn't your head hurt, Alfred?" asked Kiku. He didn't plan on staying long, Alfred needed to rest.

"Like hell, but I'll die of boredom if my country doesn't kill itself first." Alfred said, stirring his soup.

Kiku noticed Alfred's hands were shaking. He tried to pick up a spoonful of soup but he couldn't get his hands to stay still. He sighed, put the spoon down, and cracked his knuckles.

"So, uhm, how do you like American football?" Alfred said, changing the subject.

"You are shaking, Alfred, are you cold? Do you need a blanket?"

"No, I, uhm, it's just a side effect from... uh, it gets worse when I am sick though."

Looking back, Alfred would always rub his hands during meetings. Not only that but he would tune other's out and focus intensely on his notes, like he was trying to perfect how neat his writing was. Kiku always thought it was a weird quirk Alfred had, because he would do it so often. Alfred was even rubbing his hands now, trying to crack his knuckles occasionally.

"It sucks, really," Alfred began, staring sadly into his bowl, "This is what I get for defending myself."


	3. Patriotism

**((Some of you were wondering why Alfred has shaky hands. This is all going to be explained this chapter. Also, this fic is going to be a little on the sad side until the latter chapters, but that might change! A big thanks to everyone who reviewed!))**

The countries were bored. They had been warned by Matthew not to touch the photo albums or the history books, which came at a surprise to them, until they saw each book had various tabs on them, each containing a date.

Alfred's 'fun' books were thrillers on zombie apocalypses and dystopian societies; two genres that can only go so far. They finally decided on making popcorn and watching some trash American TV, which Francis seemed more than interesting in watching.

"You and Kirsten have been fighting since the party on my yacht!" One of the housewives yelled. Surely it had to be an act, no one had lives so ridiculous. Most of the women seemed serious about it, though.

"American television at it's finest." Arthur joked, taking a handful of popcorn.

Kiku was duelling on both what Matthew had said and what he had seen. The wars he participated in did seem to affect Alfred. Present tense. The young country was always happy at the meetings, making jokes and inviting people over to watch football…

"Kiku? You okay?" asked Matthew. Kiku looked up and saw Matthew staring intensely at him. His blue-violet eyes were hidden behind his glasses, he looked a lot like Alfred, but his build was much smaller. Needless to say, he was beautiful, getting his looks from Francis.

"Can we talk?" Kiku asked, "In the kitchen?"

The two countries made their way to Alfred's tiny kitchen. The small exchange had caught Arthur's attention, and it would have caught Francis's, if he weren't so invested in the trash that was The Real Housewives. Arthur was keen on finding out what Kiku needed to talk to Matt about. He sat on the edge of the couch and focused his listening on them.

"It's about Alfred, you said the wars he was in still affected him. When I was talking to him in his room, his hands were shaking and he couldn't pick up his spoon. He didn't say what caused it, but he said it was a side effect from something and that it gets worse when he is ill," Kiku explained, "I am worried for him."

Matthew sighed and rubbed his face. He had to be more careful with his words. Alfred really didn't like talking about it, but it was something that we had been meaning to tell everyone. He obviously hadn't done it already, and his friends needed to know the truth.

"Kiku, do you know why Al participates in his wars? It's because he is very patriotic, and feels that he is not worthy to be a country until he has done all he can to serve. He served for so long, Kiku, he lost so many people..." Matthew paused, choosing his next words carefully, "One of the big reasons Al went back into isolationism after World War One is because he was shot in his primary motor cortex."

Matthew remembered when he heard the news of Al's injury. Al had been shot in the part of the brain that controls his arms. His helmet had helped the bullet from not going deeper in his brain, but there was still damage. He had lost all movement in his right arm and could barely move his left. They were able to remove the bullet, but technology back then wasn't as advanced, and he slipped into a coma. That was half of his isolationism. When he woke up he wouldn't talk, not even to Matt. Vigorous speech and physical therapy had been able to help that, but he still had long lasting effects. His eye sight decreased after that, and he had to get actual glasses. His hands would shake as well. Al spent so much time in physical therapy, he would even practice his motor skills at home, but nothing helped the shakiness. He was ashamed of it, no matter how many people thanked him for his service. Every word of thankfulness was another reminder of how he had gotten himself injured and discharged. He couldn't serve anymore. He wasn't worthy of the country title.

There was an awkward silence after Matthew had finished explaining everything. The television was muted and both Arthur and Francis sat in silence. Alfred was so young, and he thought so low of himself.

'This explains all the medication in the bathroom.' Arthur thought to himself. All the countries had medication that they took incase of a disaster or political unrest, but it seemed Alfred had to take these all the time, or he would get in a worse situation than he is in now. He remembered when Alfred returned from isolationism. He was unusually quiet, he wouldn't speak up at all during the meetings. Matthew would nudge him, as if calling him back from a far away place, when he was called on. For the first few months Alfred had a far away look in his eyes. All the countries took notice of that. They had just thought he was depressed because he had been isolated from his friends. Alfred started to speak up more in the meetings, which dismissed their worries. Except for Matthew's, who looked at his brother with worry, but Arthur simply thought it was because Matthew was the kind of person to worry.

Kiku and Matthew walked back into the living room. Matthew realized they probably overheard their conversation in the small house.

"Did you guys hear that? Shit, eh, could you not talk about it in front of him? He is, uh, ashamed of his problems." Matthew explained in a slight panic, his accent showing through his normal speech.

"Poor Amérique…"

(x)

Alfred was feeling a bit better, so he decided to take advantage of it before the aftershock came. He put on his glasses, swung his feet over the bed, and stood up, bracing himself on the wall, he made his way over to the wardrobe. He took out a pair of jeans and a pale pink tee shirt.

Once he was dressed he made his way over to the bathroom and looked at the bottles lining the countertop. It was awful, he had medication for everything. He filled a glass with water and gulped it down, he tried to steady his hands and fill the glass again, but it slipped from his hand and shattered in the sink. Cursing, he turned off the water and started to pick of the glass.

"Alfred? Is everything okay?" asked Arthur.

Shit.

"No yeah everything is fine, it's okay." Alfred reassured him. He quickly put the glass into a towel, cutting himself in the process.

"Bloody hell!" Arthur exclaimed, running to Alfred and taking hold of his hand.

"Why didn't you ask for help? There is no shame in breaking a glass, Alfred."

"No it's okay, I just was feeling better that's all, I'll clean it up. Can you, uhm, get out please?" Alfred said.

Arthur wrapped up the glass in a towel and left the bathroom reluctantly, worrying for his former colony.

Alfred looked at his bloody hands. Why did he have to be so fucked up? No, no he's wrong. He's fucking America! The hero! Heros have obstacles like everyone else. Besides, he needed to be happy for his guests. With some difficulty, he opened his pill bottles and took his medication. Grabbing a spare glass he filled it with water and emptied it into his stomach.

After he was done getting ready for the day, or, well, afternoon, he walked out into the living room.

"Are you feeling better, Alfred?" Kiku asked. Something was off about how he was speaking, though. It was too kind, a little forced. In fact, all of them seemed to be staring at him.

Alfred coughed, "Uh, yeah I am, thanks for asking."

Alfred paused, thinking about what he could do to entertain his guests.

"Okay, so who wants to have a good time before I turn into a sweaty mess again?"

His jokes really needed some work.

"Video games, anyone? Matt? I know you wanted to play The Walking Dead Game with me."

Alfred walked over to the entertainment center and opened up the bottom cabinet. He turned on the PS4 and grabbed a controller. He looked through his collection of games, picking out the one that had been chosen. He still had a headache, and he would give anything to just go back to bed and sleep, but there were guests to entertain and puns to be cracked. He put the disk in the console and took a step back, getting it set up. He gripped the controller tight, determined not to let anyone see his shakiness.

"Here ya go. I'll be right back, I'm famished." He said, handing the controller to Matthew.

Alfred decided on a peanut butter sandwich. He laid out the ingredients on a cutting board. He started making his sandwich when he heard Arthur behind him.

"Why didn't you tell me you were shot?"

Alfred sighed. He knew something was up, "What do you know?"

"I know that you were seriously injured during your isolationism."

"That's the basics."

"Why didn't you write?"

"Multiple reasons, Arthur, don't act like you don't know how isolationism works."

Alfred put his sandwich on a plate and left the room, ending the conversation. When he walked into the living room he noticed that the sun was already setting, sighing, he sat down next to Matt and started eating.

They played the game for a while, discussion the best options, and fighting over some. Kiku would remind everyone that they were on a timer and they needed to hurry up a decide.

"How unfortunate, Shawn was a good looking guy, no?" Francis said. They had decided to try and save him. He was older, smarter, and stronger than the kid, Duck, so it seemed like the rational choice. Kenny, unfortunately, hated them for the remainder of the game.

Alfred felt sorry for Kenny. He knew what it was like to lose someone important to him. He knew that feeling all too well. Maybe he'll go back and save Duck on a rainy day.

After a while they decided to turn off the game and watch some TV.

"American media is very strange." Kiku said, flipping through the channels.

"Can't argue with that, but look whos talking." Alfred chuckled.

They decided on watching a film called Moon.

Alfred had a good time, his headaches slowly got worse, but most of the time he was distracted on the movie or a conversation. Matt got out some chips that hadn't gotten eaten and was sharing them with Francis as they exchanged simple conversation next to him on the couch. Kiku was situated in the orange camping chair, his knees brought up to his chest and his brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of the plot. It was a rather cute sight, seeing the petite man trying to understand what was going on. Arthur was focused intensely on the movie as well, it being a British film. He was sitting in the second red camping chair, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands cupped over his mouth. Like Kiku, his huge eyebrows furrowed in focus.

Towards the end of the movie, Alfred wondered if there was even going to be an aftershock. Personally, he was more concerned with the flooding that was going to happen when it warmed up. Flooding usually had him in a sweaty mess and running a high fever. His breath rattled, people all over the country were developing respiratory issues because of the dry weather. For countries like Canada, where is was constantly cold, they had adapted to the weather. But America had a range of temperatures, so it was nearly impossible to be adapted to all of them.

'The curse of being a big country.' He thought.

(x)

Alfred woke up in the middle of the night with extreme nausea. He knew what this was, of course, there was no avoiding it. He staggered over to the bathroom and collapsed in front of the toilet. The whole room was spinning and he had a pounding headache. He didn't even realize someone else had come into the bathroom.

"Alfred, are you okay?"

It was Kiku. He walked into the bathroom and kneeled down beside Alfred, who spit and groaned into the toilet.

"Do you want me to get you anything?" Kiku asked, rubbing Alfred's back.

Had Kiku said something? Alfred wasn't exactly sure. He felt as if he was having an out of body experience. His vision was blurry without his glasses, and he could only hear the pounding of his head.

"La habitación está girando…" Alfred moaned.

Kiku sighed. The aftershock. He wished there was something he could do to help him, but Alfred didn't carry the ingredients for a remedy. Japan had their own earthquakes, of course, but he only has 1,500 earthquakes annually. America has over 10,000 earthquakes annually.

Alfred's was discolored and he was shaking hard. Kiku grabbed a blanket from the other room and put it over his shoulders.

So they sat there, on the floor of Alfred's bathroom. Kiku rubbing his back and Alfred occasionally puking in the toilet.

Alfred slept all day after that.


	4. Old Friends And Sweet Songs

**(( Korra is over and I don't know what to do with my life ( ; _ ;) - A little bit of gore in this chapter. Also, we get to travel into the past a few times :Þ ))**

"Why did Amérique not tell us he had poor health?" Francis asked.

"He was ashamed of it, wouldn't you be?" Matthew responded.

He got out the snow shovel. Roads were slowly but surely starting to be cleared, now that the meteorologists had confirmed there wouldn't be anymore snow. Even though Alfred only owned a staircase and a small part of sidewalk, it was his property, and it needed to be cleaned. Matthew usually took over the job, since Alfred would get sick when it snowed, so he had the upper body strength to do the job. He got his snow clothes out of his dresser and got ready for the snow.

"You are crazy, mon ami, there is eight feet of snow on the ground, and you are going to try and shovel it."

"That's what brother's do for each other, risk our immortality for staircases."

(x)

Alfred's ears rang and he could only see white. The air was hot with fire and humidity. He tried to rub the blindness from his eyes, where was he?

He was suddenly pulled back into reality. He was in Germany. He was fighting. There had been an explosion. Alfred looked around for his friend. He had to find him. He had to find Pops. He had to know he was okay.

Alfred spotted his friend a few feet away. Something was wrong, though. He was laying down, he never would lay down on the battlefield, he wasn't that stupid. There was a puddle of blood forming beneath his friend, but that wasn't his. It couldn't be. He would never get injured, he was too good a person to get injured.

Alfred scrambled over to his bleeding friend, or, what was left of his friend.

Alfred dropped his first aid kit to the ground and scrambled to open it, there was something in here to help him. There had to be.

He felt a strong hand grab his arm.

It was Pops. He was crying. Pops never cried. He was too tough. Alfred watched in horror as Pops's deep brown eyes filled with tears. His final breaths were uneven and threatening. His voice rattled with the name of his daughter, "Claire..." Pop's body slumped in Alfred's arms, lifeless.

"P-pops! C-come on Pops, c-come on! You're gonna make it, Pops. You gotta, y-you have a little g-girl waiting for you at home. Y-you gotta make it home!" Alfred sobbed, putting pressure on his friend's wound. He tried to cover it with a piece of cloth, but there was nothing to cover. The right half of his friend's torso was gone. He abandoned the cloth and placed his hands over his friend's heart, pushing rhythmically. Pops wasn't dead. He was going to make it, Alfred had to at least try.

Bullets whized past both of them, entrails strewn across the battlefield. Pops was one of Alfred's best friends in the army. He was a father figure to him, showed him around camp when he had first enlisted. He did that for all the new recruits. Pops believed in tough love, and would wrestle for fun. He was a real down to earth guy, the type that had god awful humor that never failed to put a smile on your face. He worked hard, he had to, for his family. He had a little girl back in South Carolina he had to care for. A little girl named Claire that was left with his sister, Ruth, while all the men went to war. Pops would tell Alfred how Claire loved wearing pigtails in her curly black hair, and how she had a smile like her mother's. Her mother died in childbirth, so Pops was the only parent she had. He had to make it back. He had to make it back for his pride and joy.

Pops always told Alfred to look after his little girl if he didn't make it. Nearly everyday, like he knew he wouldn't make it out.

"'Make sure she grows up right. If I don't make it out of here, make sure she grows up right.' Say that to me, dammit!" Alfred's vision blurred, tears filled his eyes behind his broken glasses, "Say it to me, just one more time. P-please..."

Alfred looked down at what was left of his friend. Pop's dark brown skin was covered in blood and sweat, entrails were spilling out from his right side.

Alfred looked at the dog tag wrapped around Pops's neck.

'PAUL RUFUS JOHNSON.' It read.

"POPS!" Alfred screamed, leaning into his friends shoulder.

_Crack_

His arms went limp.

(x)

Alfred woke with a start. It was dark and his vision was blurry. Why was his face wet? Had something happened? He through the covers off his body and got up quickly, his head spinning in the process. He wobbly paced the room. What was happening? Pops would know. He had to find Pops's bunk.

"Alfred? Is that you? Are you okay?"

"Arthur? W-what are you doing in my camp?" Alfred responded frantically.

'His camp? What was he talking about?' Arthur thought. He started toward Alfred, who was pacing the room. His hands were curled up in his chest, trembling viciously.

"Alfred-" the Englishman started. Alfred turned toward the sounds of his voice. His grief-stricken eyes were glazed over and looked directly passed him. He was sleepwalking.

"Is everything alright?" A quiet voice asked from Alfred's bed.

"Alfred appears to be sleepwalking," Arthur whispered back, "he's shaking rather violently."

"Shit." Matthew cursed, carefully getting up, grabbing the blanket from the bed.

Alfred continued to pace the room, something was going on that made him more frantic as time went on. His breathing became uneven, and his arms rattled against his chest.

"Hey," Matthew said in a soothing voice, "why are you awake?"

He draped the blanket over Alfred's broad shoulders. Alfred took the blanket in his hands, securing it in it's place.

"I need to find Pops," He croaked. Tears started to stream down his face. He started to cry harder, his shoulders curling inwards, "... C-claire needs to g-grow up r-right."

"She did, Alfred, she became a wonderful young lady, eh." Matt said sleepily, gently guiding Alfred toward the bed. Alfred followed Matt's lead, occasionally stopping and asking how Claire was doing. Matt would respond with things like, 'She got into medical school, isn't that great, Alfred?' or 'She's getting married in May to a wonderful man named George'. Alfred would sniffle and say that's great and how she deserved to be happy.

Arthur had never seen Alfred like this. When he was a colony he occasionally sleep walked, but it was always about random fairytales he was dreaming of. He thought about all the tabs on the history books. Did Alfred have a habit of making human friends? He remembered how heartbroken he was when he figured out what happened to Davie, why would he let himself get attached to humans?

Alfred curled up on the bed, his shaky hands wiping his eyes as he slowly drifted back asleep.

Matthew sighed with relief, "That was easy."

"It's hard sometimes?"

"At least he didn't sleepwalk one of his friend's death. That is a lot scarier..." Matthew explained, carefully climbing back into his side of the bed, "see you in the morning, Arthur."

"Right."

(x)

"It's not like Alfred to sleep in this late, is it?" Kiku asked. He poured both him and Matthew a cup of coffee, which they were running out of.

"He had… A rough time last night." Matthew responded. He poured some cream and sugar into his coffee. He hated the bitter taste, but he felt as if his morning wasn't complete without it. Kiku grunted in response and made his way over the the window. Snow covered half of it, but it wasn't as bad as when it first stopped snowing. It was day four of them being trapped; The first thing they realized is that Alfred didn't keep a lot of junk food in the house, and the second thing was there was a washing machine and dryer stacked on top of each other in a closet in the bathroom. They had all showered and gotten back into their clothes, Arthur was on the couch reading a murder mystery, Matthew was in the kitchen doing the dishes, and Francis was invested in the drama that was going on the TV. Middle aged women yelled over one another while their husbands sat in the corner, quietly conversing and drinking alcoholic beverages.

'America has a lot of trash TV.' Kiku thought to himself. He wondered what Matt ment when he said Alfred had a rough night. He did hear someone walking, but he just thought someone went to the bathroom. Kiku liked Alfred more than he would like to admit. He always make sure Kiku was included in things, they even lived together for a little while. When Alfred heard that Kiku prefered tea, he look him out to the World Market and bought him some. He even showed him around the city. The way Alfred showed it to Kiku made it look like the most beautiful place in the world. There were old buildings overflowing with plants and moss, street performers, and hotels that would go all out for the holidays. He had fun living with Alfred, even if it was for a short time. Kiku had his own books, so he never thought to look browse Alfred's collection. He kept to himself, so he never really noticed Alfred's absence on some days. Alfred would always rub his hands and crack his knuckles, he thought it just was a nervous habit Alfred had. He would often play an old record player he owned, the sound of trumpets swinging along to the piano as Alfred sat in the window nook and read an old book. Occasionally, he would get up and walk around the room, swinging to the beat of the song.

"Ozzie Nelson, _The Folks Who Live on the Hill_, " Alfred would say humming along to the song, "I remember when I would go out and dance to this song. I miss those times, Kiku, I really do." Alfred would look at him with somber blue eyes, like he was remembering an something incredible that he would never experience again.

"Did you ever go dancing with your war buddies, Kiku?"

"Kiku? You okay?" Matthew said, putting his hand on Kiku's shoulder, "You've been staring at nothing."

"Oh, sorry to worry you. I am fine." Kiku said. He turned away from the window and sat on the couch. He looked at the record player, sitting on the shelf in it's usual place.

(x)

Alfred didn't feel like getting out of bed today, he didn't feel like doing anything. He sighed and tightened his grip on his covers. He couldn't stay in bed forever, he knew that. He willed himself to sit up. Crossing his legs, he wrapped the plush gray comforter around his shoulders. He sat there for a while, in the dark, staring into nothing. Reluctantly, he reached over and turned on the lamp next to his bed and stood up. He balled up the warm comforter and threw it on the bed, officially discarding it's warmth. He walked into the bathroom, shut the door, and proceeded to take a shower.

The warm water was comforting, he stretched his back and cleaned himself. He needed this shower, they always made him feel better when he had nightmares like the one last night...

He remembered when he woke up in the hospital, Matthew was seated next to him, everything was blurry without his glasses on, though. The grip on his hand tightened and he felt tears fall on his skin. He tried to say something, but only a huff came out.

"Shh it's okay, Al, it's going to be okay." Matt said, running his hand through Alfred's hair. His head was heavily bandaged, and it throbbed with pain.

'Pops...' Alfred mouthed, no sound coming out. Alfred started crying, his blue eyes overflowing with tears. He tried to rub his eyes, but his arms felt like lead. He was so out of it, nodding in and out of consciousness.

"Holy shit." A voice said from the doorway. It was Samuel, a friend of Alfred's. Samuel was tall and lanky, with dark brown hair and green eyes. He had the longest eyelashes you would ever see on a boy. One of his legs was wrapped up tightly and propped up on his wheelchair. Alfred groggily looked at his friend, his shoulder and neck were bandaged, Alfred could see a scab poking over top of the gauze on his neck. Samuel wheeled over to Alfred, tears threatening to spill over his eyelids.

"When I picked you up, Al, I thought you were dead. The way Pops was." Samuel croaked, stopping for a moment. Even though he couldn't see it for himself, he knew Samuel was crying.

"I got us outta there, kid, I did." Samuel sobbed, his grip replacing Matthews. He leaned into Alfred's arm, crying softly.

Alfred cried silently next to him and nodded. Samuel had saved him, the United Stated of America, and had gotten shot and badly burned in the process.

Alfred would sleep most of his days away, but the nurses would often make him go to the lounge and socialize. Not that he could. Samuel would talk to him as often as possible, though, being patient as Alfred processed what Samuel had said to him and grunted in acknowledgement. Alfred lost a lot of weight. He barely ate anything at the time. Samuell would always joke to him about how Alfred was turning into the lanky one. Alfred would huff at the joke and that would be their conversation.

Samuel and Matthew would help Alfred with his speech therapy, encouraging him to participate in conversations and asking his opinion on things. They were patient as Alfred expressed his opinion in slow, stuttering words. Some days he wouldn't talk at all, he didn't know why he didn't talk. He just couldn't process the words, he couldn't get them to come out of his mouth. Sometimes he didn't even huff. A month passed and he was able to pick up things, dropping them occasionally, but it was good enough for him. he struggled to steady his hands, he tried everything, but they wouldn't stop trembling. The doctors had told him the trembling may never completely go away, but it would get better with time. He yearned for the day he was discharged, so he could go and see Claire.

"Www-whe-en?" Alfred asked Matthew oneday. Alfred was sitting on a chair in the visiting room, squeezing a stress ball. Matthew smiled at the fact Alfred had voluntarily said something to him, after weeks of silence. Samuel had informed Matthew of what happened to Pops, and what he would say to Alfred if he had not made it out.

"Soon, Al, you'll be out of here soon." Matthew responded kindly.

The first thing Alfred did when he was discharged was buy a train ticket to South Carolina. Matthew insisted that he joined Alfred on his journey, but Alfred did not allow him to come.

"I-I haa-ave to." Alfred said sternly, but quietly.

When he arrived at Claire's aunt's house, an older man answered the door. He shared so many traits with Pops, Alfred wondered for a moment if that was his friend.

"Yes?" the old man said, his voice croaking with age.

Alfred extented a shaky hand, "I ammm P-p-popss's f-frieend, Aaalll-lfred-d." He smiled, proud of his short sentence.

The old man smiled sadly and gripped Alfred's hand tight, "Thank you for coming, Alfred, I am James. Pops's father."

James invited Alfred into the house. It was a pretty white house in a small neighborhood outside a big city. They sat in the living room and talked for a while. Though Alfred had gotten better with his words, the conversation was awkward and choppy.

"Pops talked about you in his letters, you know. He said you are a cheerful guy, a pleasure to be around. Did something happen to you, Alfred? He said you were a talkative guy, and I just can't see that." James said. He was brutally honest, just like Pops.

"Go-aught hu-urt." Alfred responded, a shaky hand pointing to his head, "P-pops ta-alke-d a-bou-t h-hiss famil-ee… H-hee w-wwass-ss a-ah g-good mma-an." he nervously rubbed his hands. Pops had always told Alfred his family was tough, but accepting.

"H-he wa-aas mm-y b-bess-t p-p-pal," Alfred continued, rubbing his knuckles harder, "t-t-tol-d m-me t-t-o mm-ak-e sh-sur-e…" He couldn't get the words out. He knew what he wanted to say but they wouldn't come out. Alfred looked at James, his old eyes waiting patiently for Alfred to finish.

Alfred coughed, "U-uh, h-he t-t-t-old m-me… Cl-ai-re-ee neeed-de-d t-to… t-to gg-ro-ww u-pp… r-righ-t-t." Alfred struggled on the last part, his voice fading out in various parts of the sentence.

He looked at James nervously, the old man smiled at him, the corners of his eyes wrinkling, "He told us that as well, in his letters. Claire is at school right now, and her aunt, Ruth, is out shopping. Would you like to join us for dinner, Alfred?"

Alfred hummed a yes and shook his head.

During dinner, Alfred tried his best to keep up a conversation. He had to apologize a few times for dropping his fork on his plate and making a racket, until James assured him he didn't have to excuse himself anymore. Alfred tried his best to explain that if they ever ran into money trouble, to call him, and it would be taken care of.

"I a-amm imm-imm-mmport-tan-t-t i-n Dee-ee C-Cee-e. M-mon-e-ee is-ss n-no-t-t… a-an i-i… sh-sh-ue." Alfred struggled to explain...

Alfred recalled the obstacles he faced when he was trying to recover as he washed the shampoo out of his hair. He had come a long way from he was first injured, and that was something to be proud of.

(x)

Alfred got dressed in some old jeans and a red tee-shirt. He looked at the time, 3:48 PM, he had been in the shower for twenty minutes short of an hour.

"Good morning, belle Amérique." Francis said when Alfred walked into his room.

"Je peux parler français, grenouille." Alfred snapped. Everyone looked at him with surprise, they didn't expect him to answer in a different language.

"Désolé…" Alfred sighed, "I need some coffee."

Alfred walked into the kitchen, turned on the coffee maker, and opened the coffee beans.

'Matt, you are a saint.' Alfred thought, seeing that the dishes were done. Maybe he'll take him to a hockey game after the snow melts.

He made his coffee and walked over to the window. Looking at the snow for a moment and drinking his coffee. His eyes wandered over to the record player. It's been a while before he played some music on it. He missed the rich sounds it would make.

"Hey Kiku, remember when you lived here?" Alfred spoke up. He set his coffee down on the table and started going through his records, "I used to play these al the time."

"The music was beautiful. I liked it." Kiku responded from his position on the orange camping chair.

Alfred took out one of the records and spun it in his hand, "Ozzie Nelson - _The Folks Who Live on the Hill_." He read, "One of my personal favorites."

Alfred put the record in the record player and started the song. The rich sound of brass instruments filled the room, swinging along to the simple piano melody in the background.

The instruments quieted and Ozzie Nelson's voice took over, "_Someday, we'll build our home on a hilltop high, you and I._"

Alfred hummed softly to the tune, swaying along with the beat. A familiar look filled his face. Kiku knew this look all too well. It was usually accompanied with the heartbroken words,  
'Did you ever go dancing with your war buddies, Kiku?'

But not today. Today, Alfred just swayed there at the window, his hands in his pockets, humming to one of his favorite songs.

Neither Francis or Arthur had seen the young country like this before, Alfred's somber expression was not a normal sight to them. They had always known Alfred to be a loud and animated person, but this was something on a whole new level. Alfred's striking blue eyes were filled with sadness behind his full rim glasses, the kind of sadness someone experienced when they missed someone greatly. The older countries knew this feeling all too well, but they didn't expect to see it on Alfred's face. He looked like a mature young man, someone who had been through a lot, someone who was remembering better times.

Matthew watched his brother as he swayed to the song. The first thing Alfred did when he got back from his tours in foreign countries was go dancing with his friends, but Alfred always preferred slow dancing to songs like these.

And he knew Alfred longed for a slow dance, just one more time.

**Translation:**  
**(( France: Good morning, beautiful America. ))**  
**(( Alfred: I can speak french, frog… Sorry. ))**

**(( This is the longest chapter I have written for this fic! My skype is janer3452 if you want to talk about the story. Hopefully Alfred will get the slow dance he deserves~ ))**


	5. Relapse

**((A big thank you to everyone who reviewed. There is a part in here where the countries are talking in french. Their speech in french is italicized. It is only like this for that chunk of the fic. ))**

Alfred spent the Roaring Twenties as a man of few words but a man whose face was the definition of a party. Dancing back then was simply moving your feet to the beat, which Alfred had more than enough practice doing. Alfred's face would light up when he was dancing with a beautiful lady, or an attractive man. His good looks made it easy for him to dance with anyone, and his happy aura attracted people to him. His old war pals would talk for him, knowing the situation, and even if he didn't talk often, if you got him laughing his laugh would echo throughout the night. People would describe Alfred as the type of guy who was easy to hang out with, who had a personality that shined through the fact he didn't speak often, the type of guy you just felt safe around. Alfred didn't drink during the twenties, but others did, and when people were drunk they sure did sound funny. He was able to stutter out some words when people were drunk, hell, they just thought Alfred was drunk too.

(x)

"I didn't know you liked this type of music, Alfred." Arthur said once the song had ended. Both the European men were surprised, they thought Alfred was into pop music, not swing. Of all things, swing was probably their last guess.

"Alfred loves dancing. This music sure is perfect for that," Matthew paused and locked eyes with his brother, "He especially loves slow dancing."

"M-matt!" Alfred squealed, his face turned bright red at what his brother said.

"I would find Alfred passed out on the couch the next day more times that not." Matthew said, enjoying the fact that he was embarrassing his little brother. He made his way over to the record player.

"This song in particular is a personal favorite of our friend here. Ah, the times you would come home mumbling about the people you danced with." Matthew recollected. He lifted the needle and started the song over. Trumpets started swinging once more to the simple piano melody once more.

"Someday, we'll build our home on a hilltop high, you and I." Ozzie Nelson sung, his voice swinging and taking the place of the trumpets.

"Kiku." Alfred spoke up, looking at his friend, "I never did teach you how to dance, did I?"

Alfred strolled over to where Kiku was sitting. He extended a shaky hand to him and asked, "Do you still want to learn?"

Alfred is such a dork. Kiku loved it.

He accepted the huge, shaky hand. Alfred pulled him close, he had never really thought about the height difference between them, but being so close to the muscular country made him realize he was barely as tall as Alfred's shoulder. Alfred guided Kiku's hands to his waist and placed his own hands on Kiku's shoulder and waist. His huge arms wrapped around him until his hand rested on the small of his partner's back. Alfred guided the small man to the beat of the music. After a while, Alfred took his hand of Kiku's shoulder and gently grabbed Kiku's petite hand, raising it to shoulder level. They slow danced for what seemed like forever to the song. At one point, Kiku leaned into Alfred's chest, which vibrated as he hummed along to the song. This wasn't a formal slow dance anymore, the two countries were hugging. Kiku's face was buried in Alfred's shoulder, and Alfred reset his chin on Kiku's head. Kiku wished he could stay like this forever, wrapped in the country's muscular build. Alfred smelled like summer, like the warm days where there was a nice breeze and the cicadas were chirping. These were some of Kiku's favorite days. He hadn't realized Alfred was crying until he felt Alfred take in a sharp breath. He looked up into the taller county's eyes, the blue eyes Kiku had come to love were filled with pure happiness. He returned to his position in the crook of Alfred's shoulder and hugged a little tighter.

The other countries watched from the couch as Alfred guided Kiku around the room. They watched as the space between the two lessened until they were pressed against each other. They watched as Alfred started crying tears of happiness. It was a sight they had never seen before, at least, a Arthur and Francis had never seen before.

Matt smiled, Alfred finally got his slow dance.

(x)

It was around dinner time, and Francis suggested that he make dinner.

"Let's change it up and have some french cuisine." Francis said, standing up and stretching.

"_Let's make Arthur angry and only speak french._" Alfred told Francis in french. He was seated next to Kiku on the couch, one arm draped over Kiku's shoulder, "_This is going to be so fucking funny, Francis._"

"_Holy shit, yes. This is going to be hilarious._" Matthew said. Alfred whispered the plan in Kiku's ear, translating what they had said.

"You guys are mean." Kiku said. He didn't actually mean it, of course, he wanted to see how Arthur would react to his friends speaking in a language he couldn't understand.

"What? I heard my name. What are you all planning." Arthur said sternly from his position in the camping chair, glaring at Francis.

"_Nothing, my friend, we were simply talking about your god awful cooking._" Francis said, walking to the kitchen. Alfred chuckled and translated what Francis had said into Kiku's ear.  
Kiku giggled at the face Arthur made, trying to figure out what Francis said.

The three of them got up and walked into the kitchen, "_We're going to make dinner now, black sheep of europe, whose cooking could kill a cow."_ Francis said.

"I know what you said you frog! You called me a fucking black sheep!" Arthur said, standing up in defense, "I am the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland!" He yelled, as if that would change anything.

"Well, I am the United Stated of America!" Alfred yelled back, punching his chest and flashing a smile, "And I can speak in french if I want to _because you're not in control anymore, black sheep!"_

"OH HO HO!" Francis laughed, doubling over.

"Now you're calling me a black sheep?!"

Kiku's head was tucked into his knees. He was trying so hard to keep a straight face, but his efforts failed when Alfred screamed, "THAT'S RIGHT! VIVA LA REVOLUTION, _BLACK SHEEP!_"

"YOU TIT!" Arthur screamed, leaping onto his former colony.

(x)

Six long days after they were snowed in, the countries were soon able to get to their hotel rooms, pack up their things, and head to the airport. It had been a crazy week, to say the least.

Alfred and Matthew drove them to the airport the morning the planes started flying again. All of them had fun camping out at Alfred's house, but it was time to get back to work.

Kiku was thankful that his neighbors agreed to take care of Pochi for so long. The tan dog greeted him at the door excitedly. He was glad he was home, though, the memory of slow dancing with Alfred was still fresh in his mind, and he missed it already. He missed him already.

Francis and Arthur returned to their houses late at night. They lived alone, but they had to admit, sharing a living space with their friends was nice.

"Hey Matt, thanks for shovelling the front of the house." Alfred said. The snow had slowly started to melt, leaving Alfred with a cold. He was thankful the snow didn't melt quickly like it usually did. All it took was one warm day to make his cold go from bad to worse, but so far the temperature had been just above freezing, so he didn't need to worry. They had just finished saying goodbye to their friends, so Alfred was now driving them home.

"I am happy to do it." Matt responded, turning on the radio. It had been a few weeks since Christmas music had stopped playing, which Matt was thankful for, Christmas music was annoying as hell.

"I want to make it up to you, though, since you are always doing it." Alfred explained. He insisted he drive them. Matthew didn't argue, mostly because it was foggy today and Matthew didn't know these roads well, "How about we go to a hockey game sometime soon?"

"Sounds great."

The airport was an hour away from Alfred's house, but with the weather conditions and traffic it took two hours to get there and even longer to get back. Alfred and Matthew exchanged simple conversation, but most of the ride was filled with popular songs through the radio.

Alfred was an amazing driver, he had done everything right.

There shouldn't have been an accident.

There shouldn't have.

Some guy had fallen asleep at the wheel of his minivan.

"Shit!" Alfred cursed, pulling the steering wheel to the side. He was able to stop a head on collision, but the two cars collided at the driver's side.

The only thing Matthew remembered after the collision was waking up and seeing Alfred next to him, unconscious in his seat. He was bleeding heavily from various places all over his body, blood covering most of his brother's face, but he was breathing, and that was the important part. It took a while for the paramedics to arrive at the scene. During that time, Matthew driften in and out of consciousness until the medics and firemen started sawing away at the doors of their car. It hurt Matt to breathe there was a good chance he had some broken ribs. Their rescuers were able to pull them out of the car, but Matt lost consciousness as an oxygen mask was slipped over his head.

Matt woke up once again during the ambulance ride to the hospital. He looked over at Alfred, whose head was firmly positioned in two cushions and heavily bandaged.

"Al.." Matthew groaned, trying to sit up, but a firm hand pushed him back down.

"Your brother's going to be okay buddy, just go back to sleep." A deep voice said.

He woke up for good in a hospital bed, covered in bandages. Though everything hurt, he managed to sit up. He needed to find Al. Grunting, he managed to sit on the side of his bed, ready to stand. He gripped his fluids pole tightly and stood up. Pain shot all through his body. He had he had broken his collarbone, which left his right arm useless as it sat neatly in a sling. He assumed he had also broken a several ribs. He had fractured one once before in a hockey accident, but this time he couldn't seem to take a good breath. The whole room spun, he probably had a concussion as well, and strange medication didn't help his cause. He carefully walked to the door, being careful not to slip. A nurse walked into the room before he was able to reach the door, and he was suddenly being guided back to his bed.

"Al…" Matthew croaked, his throat dry.

"Your brother is in the ICU, , you will be able to see him when you have rested." The nurse told him. Matthew stopped in his tracks. He needed to see Alfred.

"I am awake." He said sternly, "Take me to my brother."

"Like I said, when you have rested, ."

Matthew straightened his back, winding at the pain, and looked into the petite nurse's eyes, "At least get me his doctor, I need to know how he is doing."

"Fine."

Matthew ended up sleeping the rest of the day without speaking to the doctor.

(x)

Matt groggily woke up the next morning to find that his phone was on his bedside table. He picked it up and inspected it, the screen was cracked, but other than that it worked like nothing had ever happened. He sent a quick text to Arthur, saying that he needed to talk to him as soon as possible.

" ?" A man said, entering the room. He was a tall man with grey hair. Matthew assumed this was Alfred's doctor.

"How is my brother? When can I see him?"

The doctor explained to Matthew that Alfred had injured his head in the collision, which they were closely monitoring because of his past injury. They couldn't measure the damage until Alfred had woken up, though. Aside from his head injury, the left side of Alfred's body had taken the most damage. His arm had broken in several places, and he had also broken some of his ribs, unfortunately puncturing his lung.

"The good news is, he is stable." Alfred's doctor said, "And, you are permitted to visit him."

Matthew thanked Alfred's doctor as he left the room. He had also told Matthews injuries to him. A broken collarbone, two fractured ribs, and a concussion. The doctor had told Matt to watch out for dizzy spells, which were possible because of the extent of his injury. Other than that, Matt was to be discharged later that day.

Matthew tried to eat several times that day, but nothing seemed to stay down. He also noticed he was sleeping a lot more than usual, both side effects of the concussion. After his fourth nap that day, he decided to see his brother. It was a familiar feeling, walking through the hospital to visit his brother who had sustained a brain injury, only this time he was a patient as well. Matthew groggily entered Alfred's room. Alfred had various IV's in his arm, and a breathing tube in his nose. His left arm was wrapped in a cast and where multiple cuts and bruises all over his face and chest. Matt pulled up a chair and sat next to his brother. He held his hand and rubbed it, like he did all those years ago. Alfred's hands trembled slightly, even in his sleep. Matt felt the grip on his hand tighten, he looked up to see his brother's blue eyes filled with tears.

"Al…" Matthew croaked, running his hand through Alfred's hair and wiping the tears from his brother's eyes.

Alfred tried to say something, but just like all those years ago, only a huff came out.

**(( Happy Holidays everybody ))**


End file.
